I Brought My Dad to The Masters. He Brought Me Back to Life.

His perspective, his advice, and his presence were the cure to what ailed me. I just didn't realize it until it happened.

My dad is sitting—no, laying—in the backseat of a Mercedes Maybach S650, a car that costs about twice as much as the house I grew up in, and that rappers have referenced in more than 700 songs. He’s holding a draft road beer that’s filled to the brim, and he’s leaning back as far as you do to get a root canal, giving himself an ab workout every time he leans forward to take a sip.

We are stuck in traffic on Washington Road in Augusta, Georgia, moving a car’s length every five minutes, but we don't care. We are living out a fantasy—one my dad and I shared for decades (two for me, five for him). We are at The Masters.

In fact, we are, in this moment, leaving the 2018 Masters Tournament, which just wrapped up its final day. Traffic moves another ten feet, putting us in line with the iconic entrance to Augusta National Golf Club, home of the tournament since its debut in 1934. “The mystic of Magnolia Lane,” dad says, attempting to mirror the clear and collected call of CBS Sports legend Jim Nantz. Our long-scheduled dinner plans were in jeopardy, but I didn't care—this was peak happiness for my dad.

Whenever my dad and I discussed going to the Masters, it was always "if," as in, "If we go..." because we were never sure there'd be a "when." But at the age of 28, I was given the chance to bring my dad along with me to the storied golf tournament. The sound I heard over the phone when I told him was somewhere between the “yow!” you let out after a bee sting and the all-caps “YES” he exclaimed when Santonio Holmes caught the winning touchdown for the Steelers in Super Bowl XLIII. And with that, it felt like our roles had been reversed: I was making my dad's dream come true.

But the role reversal was short lived. It had been a tough year for me, and when we finally met at baggage claim in Atlanta, I had hit an all-time low. It all seemed to culminate when I saw my dad in person for the first time in almost 18 months.

"I'll give you a moment and go get the car," our concierge said as the embrace dragged on a little long and things started to get misty.

Read the full story on Esquire.com.